


reptilian

by raider



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Boot Worship, Choking, Daddy Kink, M/M, Masochism, Physical Abuse, Sadism, Self-Mutilation, Slit reopening his cuts, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 05:25:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4251003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raider/pseuds/raider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Nice 'n slow for ya, spitboy."<br/>(prompt: "slit/3 or 4 warboys - gross gangbang, slit is a powerbottom, consensual degradation, some gore maybe")</p>
            </blockquote>





	reptilian

**Author's Note:**

> kink meme fill.  
> for saturno.

Today's shiny. Slit knows it's shiny 'cause he's gonna take a car and drive it today, this time for sure-- ! Even if stupid, stupid Nux tries to fight him off he's gonna do it, gonna sit in that hot seat and pound his foot on that chicken-scratched pedal and make everyone see he can promote himself. Doesn't really need an Imperator's permission if he's as good as he knows he is, does he?

Except when he's adjusting his belt in a tunnel, there's a trio of War Boys in a line heading his way like they mean it. Slit knows them. Them's Gaul and Clot and Thumper. Tall and tall then his exact height, which is a small victory for Slit, who always feels like Nux is one-upping him in every possible way.

"Hey, Lizard-face! Ugly smeg!" Big booming voice from a broad chest clogged with phlegm. Gaul huffs engine smoke right from exhaust pipes. Says he needs it. A big perma-smear of greasy black always coats his lips and they must be numb by now from sucking all those fumes from the purring spouts of their beloved vehicles. 

Them's older than Slit by a few years, and while Slit is hardly a child he's still got his youthful features where these three Boys got real jawlines, got definition and the threat of stubble even with radiation pulses to their owned skin. Boys more close to Men and that sure isn't pleasing their whatever-god above. 

They engulf him from all sides, boxing him up against the rock wall. "Was you who did it, ain't it, Lizzie? Took the sprockets from Gaul's bunk. We saw ya, saw it." Talks so strange but he's deadly-smart, and he, Clot, shoves a bony finger into Slit's face for emphasis. Slit shakes his head vigorously at the accusation. It's true but of course he'll deny it. Why would he give them reason to kick his ass? Not that he's scared or nothin'. He's looking at Clot's face, painted skeletal like his own but far less grinny, more like violent claw marks over his mouth to mimic teeth and his eye sockets so much deeper. Gaunt, demonic. A bandana wrapped lazily around his head and it's obvious he's the black thumb Slit will never be.

Slit doesn't care. "Shut up and rack off, go bother some pup!" he shouts right back, defiant. Spittle comes flecking out his mouth and he likes it that way, hopes it lands on them.

"Oh no," Thumper is first to step up and slam his fist into Slit's chest, stop him from pushing away. Might be the same size but he's stronger, the muscles in his biceps tightening noticeably when he holds Slit back. Thumper loves his scalp-scars and they're deep and intricate, the most striking part of his Devotion. Not one for the war paint as much as the others, his ugly tan is showing right now and Slit glares at him. "Offa me, y'look like a peasant," he grumbles with a push aimed toward the other War Boy. But Thumper's not having any of that. He actually stops Slit's hand, then twists at the wrist, wrenching it into an uncomfortable position behind Slit's back. This makes the kid yelp, start to squirm.

Clot starts laughing, rolling his shoulders as he watches the skinnier Boy twitch in that weak vice. "What's it, that _hurt_ the lizard? It don't got hot blood. Can't feel nothin', I thought it." Clot thrums a fist against Slit's chest like he's knocking for a heartbeat. "Gimme the parts. They're mine." 

Slit's thrashing now, feeling his tendons crunching as he fights against that horrible bend his arm's in. "Your's, eh? Why was they in Gaul's den? Y-you--" Warning screw, Thumper's twisting him all the more up, and whatever Slit was about to say hiss-dies in his throat. Gaul just stares with cloudy vacancy, adjusts the goggles strapped tight over his forehead, this dumb cut of razed muscle-meat - Clot's eyes light up, squaring himself in front of the younger War Boy. He nods at Thumper, cocks his head back and makes his knuckles kiss his palm.

"Yeh, hold 'im still, make 'im a punchin' bag." So then Thumper's jostling around behind a squirmy Slit, snatching his other wrist and trying to bind the both of them behind his back. And of course Slit's not still; his body's cattle-prodded, jittering around and lunging forward and backward, feet all scrabbly in the dust-rock of their tunnels. Clot doesn't budge. Doesn't even flinch when the other War Boy swings his upper body at him like he's trying to bash their skulls. Because Slit doesn't connect and Clot knows he wouldn't, 'cause Thumper's a strong, compact little shit. Much stronger than the little shit he's holding. Takes a second of pause like he's waiting for Slit to stop throwing his fit, then he does it.

Swift blow right to the stomach and even if Slit had sturdied up and prepared his guts they'd still churn up just like they do when Clot punches there. The air's forced out his throat and he starts spluttering, the red flush quickly filling up his skin woefully invisible under his thick war paint. Clot's grinning at this reaction, watching the lizard start to sag in Thumper's grip. Lizard's trying to cough but doesn't even have the breath for that; he trembles in a suffocation limbo. "-- 's only round one--" Slit's hearing Clot's voice drift in but it's like a cloud of mist, his brain getting hazy from oxygen deprivation. 

But even crumpling, Slit's shaking his head again, saliva collecting and spilling thick from his dry lips as some kind of panic reaction. One boot drags up and he stands straight, sways against Thumper, who offers no comfort but instead lets go, then brings his knee up and smashes it into the small of Slit's back. Forces him forward, colliding with Clot and flailing as his lungs finally relax enough to let him suck in some air.

Clot doesn't say anything. Flinches a bit when Slit comes near but not from thinking he's gonna do anything, just 'cause he's disgusted, and Slit gives him another stifled howl when he punches him in the ribs and shoves him with enough strength to send him toppling to the ground. 

Slit is one with the floor. He sprawls once he realizes he's there, rolling over onto his back and starting to push himself up. " _No, no, no, no_ \--" muttering to himself again and again, but it's not fear or pleading that threads in his voice. It's defiance. Like he's telling himself to get the fuck up, get the fuck up, get the fuck up-- 

Gaul shoves in and plants a tip of his steel-toed boot on the nape of Slit's neck. He's a huge guy but he doesn't put much weight on it and Slit just freezes, his angry mumbles turning into a whisper. "-- C'mon already!" Clot the big sadist is shouting at him, and when he places his own boot on Slit's back he's grinding it down, leaning forward to put all his weight on it so he can smash Slit right back into the floor. Then he's got Thumper stepping around to the front and sure, it's a fucking party. Slit throws his strained arm forward and grabs at Thumper's ankle, tries to use it as leverage to yank himself upward. Lizard-slides just a few inches before he cries out from Clot driving his heel into the base of his spine, kicking a couple of times then letting it sink in.

Slit feels a grin spreading, lips parting sticky against the dust his face his smashed against and getting grits in his teeth. It's a delirious little smile and he only partly understands why it came: he's pissed off, he's _enraged_ these three think they can just walk up and try to ruin his shiny, shiny day, and yet--

"Flip that lizard over!" Clot commands, "I wanna look at 'is reppy face when I'm kickin' it." 

Them's order-followers and Slit finds himself belly-up and showing his teeth to Clot when Gaul and Thumper roll him, all crowded around him like he really is a lizard, something discovered out in the wastes by a group of boys violent and bored. "Whatcha smiles for, smeg-stain? I'll give ya summin' to smile for." 

It's like a gunshot in his head when Clot kicks him. Damn near kicks him unconscious. Black and red-yellow-blue sparks of light explode in his vision and the pain is another detonation pounding against his skull, eliciting a pitiful little groan from him. Clot must like that because when Slit's able to focus on him, he sees him grinning right back at him. 

"That's it, Lizzie, gimme croaks!" Clot kicks again but this time it's aimed at his ribs; he's at least merciful enough to aim the crook of his ankle and make that connect as opposed to the tip. Then down, down to his hips and his upper thigh. There's, purposely, less power behind it than Clot could've given and Slit realizes this. He realizes he realizes this. So he does: croaks for Clot, croaks and squawks and hisses all creature-like as Clot tracks kicks along his side. Slit realizes: he's taking great care to do it in a line. A symmetry of punting down that open skin-trail and-- 

It's erotic. Slit might be sexually stupid but his body knows whatever his mind's feeling when he processes the fact that Clot's kicking him in this careful, intentional line. This makes his grin wide again, and he husks a weak laugh as he starts pushing himself up again. Scrapes up on his elbows and pauses for a second 'cause he knows one of them is going to push him down. Thumper takes the honors, his leg thrusting up from behind Slit's head, falls onto his shoulder and pries him right back to the floor.

Clot scoffs, "Still funny, eh? What's it, you like me kickin', eh?" And Slit just finds his head nodding ferociously before he can even think about a proper response. Snickering to himself as he does it, starting to twist under Thumper's boot and test if he'll-- yeah he does, yeah, Thumper's putting more weight down and making him stay put. "'Bout them sprockets," Thumper growls, a reminder; not nearly as entertained by the situation as his buddies seem to be. 

"Oh yeah, Lizard-face has 'em somewhere, we're gonna find 'em," Clot replies, and then he's jamming his boot down on top of Slit's abdomen, leaning forward and placing his elbow all nonchalant on his knee as he looks down at Slit and lets his mouth hang open in interest, watches the reaction. It's a squeal from the bruise, the broken blood vessels collecting internally from that punch before. Slit feels tears squeezing out the corners of his mismatched eyes. He ain't crying but they're forced out from the sharp and sudden pain, the way Clot's taking his sweet time craning over Slit's body from above. He's emaciated but packed with ropey muscle, all natural from working on cars so much. Slit's grinning now out of desperation. Can't wipe the look off his face in response to the pain, it's just so--

Gaul's leaning in to try to see what Clot sees when Clot tilts his head, staring at Slit's face. The perma-grin. Clot ignores his bunk-buddy and stands up straight again, taking some steps closer, half-walking on Slit's bare upper body as he does. Slit starts thrashing again, snarls at him and claws at his pant leg. Clot responds by smashing his boot down on top of one of those offending hands. Hears a crack and Slit actually _screams_ from that one, gurgling out-- "G-gonna-- shiv-- in y-- your sleep--" A stuttery threat that Clot doesn't want to hear, and then he's placing his boot over Slit's dumb face.

"Shut it, pup," Clot barks, standing up straight. Lets one hand slip down to his crotch and start sliding over himself, licking his lips at the sight of this irritating little thing under his boot. "See this?" He's clutching the bulge starting to form, motioning like he's jerking himself off over his pants. "Y'even know what this means, daggit?" 

Slit stares in fascination and he starts nodding again like a stupid fuck. _Know what this means?_ Sure he does, Clot's gonna yank his schlanger and make his seed come out, don't they all? Can't move his head too much the way Clot's got his boot hitched there, and his hand's twitching, trembling and spasming against the floor. Might've broken something, can feel it getting all swollen and hot.

"Do not," Clot retorts in a wicked sort of pleasure, like he's enjoying proving Slit wrong. Then he explains, "Means I wanna breed ya, yeah..." Slit just nods some more to argue and Clot crushes the underside of his boot that much harder into Slit's face, drums it a couple of times as he feels himself getting hard. Gaul and Thumper are statues, watching the tension with equal interest; dangle anything sexual around a clan of deprived men and that's what you get. Slit's been made still save for his legs starting to shift and slide around uselessly, spreading and knocking into each other the same like the dull wag of a tail, simultaneously anxious and excited for what's going to happen next. Doesn't know and he's hurting in so many places but--

"Lick that lizard tongue," Clot demands, leaning back a bit, one hand firm on his crotch as he nudges his heel at Slit's face again and again. Slit coughs, muffled against the intrusion and then he does what he's told. Opens his big lizard mouth and lets _that lizard tongue_ come flicking out, pressing into the grooves in the sole. There's the gravelly dry taste of dirt and dust wedged up inside, coating his tongue and clinging to it. More coughing 'cause it's agony, that dryness on top of his dehydration, but Clot shuts him up when he takes that open mouth opportunity to stuff his heel right into Slit's mouth.

"Mediocre, lizard!" Clot's shouting their collective favorite insult and Slit finds himself infuriated to be called such a thing. Bites down as hard as he can on the thick rubber of the heel and then starts sucking at it, purposely making it loud; slurping-suction noises as he glares up at Clot. Clot's rubbing himself and Slit stares at that lump starting to strain the other War Boy's pants. Slides up his bare body, the way his muscles are contracting as he touches himself. He bites again, tries to chew his way through the heel as he feels his own cock start perking up, aroused despite the throbs in his hand, in his belly.

Thumper's suddenly smirking, Slit can see; he slides his own boot over Slit's shoulder then gives his cheek a few loving taps with the toe. "Boot whore," he's muttering and Slit doesn't know what that means but Clot starts snorting too, then Gaul is and it's like they're all in one some joke about him. "Then give 'im yours, too!" That's Clot's bright idea and Thumper digs his boot under Slit's neck to get him to sit up a bit, waits for Clot to rip his boot from Slit's whore-mouth then gives the kid's cheek a soft kick. 

"Lick here," Thumper's commanding with a snap of his fingers, a point to the length of the boot. Slit doesn't hesitate. Flings himself forward and gives an angry lick, tongue sliding with suppressed fury up the creased leather and tasting layers upon layers of grease, smoke and dust and blood before he bites there, too. Clamps his teeth down on toe and jerks his head like he's intent to tear a chunk off. His slug-trail of saliva up the side glints a little in the light and then the three are laughing at him again before Thumper drives his boot into Slit's neck and simply slides him away to get him to stop. 

Slit doesn't stop. Comes lunging back again, that grin that doesn't reach his eyes coming back to his face. Wants to piss Thumper off more than anything, wants to feel the protest and lack-of-want he felt when the War Boy tried to kick him away like that. Knows he can't just fight them all off so maybe if he does the next best thing and doesn't make it easy for 'em, doesn't submit--

He's rewarded with another kick to the face, this one harder, smashing right into his nose and hammering blood loose. Busting his lip open and making it bubble up and flow and Slit moans, grabs onto that boot with his good hand and makes it clawed. He grabs and stupidly licks again, tonguing the toe and smearing his fresh blood on it. 

"Told ya," Thumper rumbles to Clot. There's an irritating knowing in his voice and Slit abruptly surges upward, twists out from under Clot's boot and scrabbles his way up Thumper, grabbing and climbing and slithering like lightning up to his face then managing to crack him one right in his jaw all fast and sharp before Gaul's heaving in, hooking hands under his armpits and literally tossing him to the side like he weighs nothing. Slit hits the rock floor again but he's victorious, cackling all raspy and leering at Thumper, watches him rubbing at the spot he got punched.

"Nah, told you! Told _you_!" Fucking nonsense and he's being combative for the sake of it when the three stomp over to him and it's a flurry of violence for just a few drawn-out seconds that goes like:

Gaul lifts Slit again, and he has to really try because Thumper's kicking the shit out of the boy, blows falling on his hip and his ribcage and his spine and they don't stop until Gaul's got him up dangling in the air, one thick hand on his throat and the other in a vicegrip on his bicep as he crushes him into the nearest wall. Then Clot's trodding over and railing on his exposed body, punching with all his force behind it like he's trying to beat a hole through Slit's stomach, and the pressure is making bile come rolling up Slit's throat and out past his lips. Acidic and sterile, no chunks of food because he hasn't actually eaten in a day or two but his stomach can't handle the barrage. Slit's kicking and struggling the whole time, his own boots smashing into Gaul but it's like trying to knock down a solid cement wall; the huge War Boy doesn't move. 

At some point Gaul lets go and Slit starts sagging into the floor but Thumper's at him, punching him right where it was done to himself before Clot raises an arm and holds him back. "Wait it, don't kill 'im, don't make 'im sleep! Want 'im awake for this!" He's scolding and it manages to make Thumper slide back. Slit falls to his knees and leans against Gaul's big, thick legs, involuntarily taking comfort in the way they hold him up. Gaul doesn't try to kick him off, just stares that same thousand-yard stare of his, his brain all eroded from exhaust fumes. 

"Poor lizard, he's puny," Clot comments. Slit rolls his eyes upward to stare like a maniac, letting his arms stretch up and curl around Gaul's legs, hissing a hiss that'd make his reptile brothers proud as he starts sliding and sprawling on the floor like he's got no bones at all. His body's pulsing in pain all over, gonna ache for days but he's struck wanting this attention. It comes so easily to him, the desire, that Slit doesn't bother fighting it. He doesn't question it neither, doesn't sit and have a revelation over the fact he's getting some sort of enjoyment over these Boys kicking him around and beating on him and talking to him like he's real shit. It just _is_.

"Puny!" Slit shouts back in agreement, voice clogged with vomit and blood dripping from his sinuses into the back of his throat. He gurgles again, making nastiness come drooling out his mouth as he clutches at Gaul. Clot drags his tongue over both his top and bottom lip, starts touching himself again, shameless as he watches that little display. In turn Slit feels his own cock pricking up; he rolls his hips, thrusts at nothing. Humps the air a couple times as a mud puddle on the ground. 

Clot lunges, descends and scruffs him on the back of his neck, part-aroused and part-infuriated that Slit isn't shutting the fuck up and crying at this point. "Idiot," he snarls, yanks him off Gaul for one hateful second before he shoves Slit's face into the big War Boy's crotch, smearing it like he's a dog getting his nose rubbed in shit. "See how much y'like that, eh. Gonna suck'um. Gonna choke to death," Clot's muttering and Slit's scrabbling at Gaul's pants, all blind and snuffling into his groin. Gaul likes it, sure he does, and he scratches his blackened fingernails over Slit's bald skull trying to grab onto it and hold him there.

Good thing Clot's doing a fair job keeping Slit's head pinned there, starting to push on it in a rhythmic way like he's forcing him to suck at a cock that's just almost there, hidden under a layer of dirty fabric. Slit grins wide and he's mouthy again, headbutts forward and bites down on the clothed cock. Gaul's growling then, a feral boar-noise as he smashes Slit off him but Clot's curling close to Slit's back, securing him _right fucking there_ and Slit can't even worm away. He starts pounding fists at Gaul's legs and hears Clot shouting in his ear, going:

"C'mon, Gaul, show 'im who's his daddy Immortan!" A raucous laugh burrowing into his skull and Slit shudders from the noise, from the way he gets smashed up against Gaul again and then, real sudden, Gaul's shoved his own pants down and his lance's there, fat and uncircumcised like all of them because who the fuck cared - and Slit tries to bite it. Doesn't marvel over this big-dicked War Boy so much as he wants to rip him apart. His teeth snap at nothing 'cause Clot's slipped his forearm around his neck from behind in a chokehold and he's yanking him, forcing his spine to arch so far back he's almost gonna snap it. Slit whines like a dog as his body goes rigid again, agonized little cries edging out of his throat at the way Clot's bending him that way. Might be flexible but it's too much. What if he breaks in half? Arousal sparks in his dick when he thinks like that, being utterly helpless like this.

"You bite 'n I'll rip all those teeth out," Clot murmurs into his ear. His hard-on's pressing urgently into Slit's straining back and somehow Slit hasn't lost his, either, electric waves rippling down his neck and his chest and down to his pelvis, to the root of his cock. "Nice 'n slow for ya, spitboy." Slit pitches forward with a raspy exhale, trying to break free from the torturous grip Clot has him in. Thumper's leaning down and grabbing his jaw tight, tugging it open and trying to admire what's inside. Not too many rotted ones. Slit sticks his tongue out, lashes it around like the lizard they want him to be and Thumper's smirking, reaching a thumb up to shove it into Slit's mouth.

Tastes sour. Bitter. It's thrumming against the scar tissue inside his cheeks and Slit thinks about biting, 'course he does - but instead he plays nice, starts suckling it like it's a tit. "Welllll," Thumper grunts in appreciation, making a circle with the digit. "Lookit that. Good lil' whore."

What's a whore, what's a whore? What's it mean? Slit doesn't know but he wants to be one if only for the intense, shivering spark of pleasure he gets when Thumper calls him _good_. His beaten body vibrates a little and he sucks all the harder, really goes at that thumb and even nuzzles forward to show his enthusiasm. This makes the both of them chuckle, and Clot finally releases Slit, knocking another punch to the spot between his shoulders as he encourages him to fall forward, flat on his face. 

" _No_ ," Clot's changing his mind a second later, slipping to the side and grabbing Slit by the shoulders, forcing him right back up to Gaul and his expectant cock. The guy smells musky with sweat, something masculine, something sexual exuding from his weighty balls. Slit swings his lower body away from Clot in a surprising show of dexterity, knows what he's supposed to do: start sucking. Just like the thumb. For some reason, he doesn't do it. Instead, he wipes away the crusting blood under his nostril and licks loudly at his lower lip.

Predictably, Clot's shouting: "Dumb lizard don't know what he's good for!" He jerks forward, gives Slit a nice backhand that whips the boy's neck sideways and almost sends him flying. Stings, stings stings and Slit shakes his head like an animal, makes some animal-noise as he barks, gleeful: "Do it again, didn't hurt!" Insolent lizard, hellion lizard snorts up and spits thick at Clot, watches a wad splatter on his lower stomach.

That does it. Clot's so pissed he's got veins bulging on his temples just as much as his cock is through his pants, obvious even through layers and layers of war paint. He kicks Slit to the side again; Slit starts writhing, slithering like he's gonna make to run away. Gets to his knees before Clot descends and wraps both hands around his neck, spider-fingers crushing and crushing at his neck-bones. Can't breathe again. Slit grabs at the other War Boy's wrists, wrenches at them like he flails his upper body around in an attempt to get free. Can't. Sure can't, Clot knows this and he shoves Slit on his back then straddles up on his stomach, lifting himself for a moment to firmly gouge his knee into the very same spot of skin he keeps punching. Clot supports himself that way, leaning forward, all his upper weight on his hands. The ones strangling the poor lizard-boy.

"Don't wanna snuff ya," Clot smiles, breathing through grit teeth. "Better stop."

Slit forces himself to smile right back even as he gags. He shakes his head and Clot, all the more irritated by this, starts shaking his as well. "No... no snuffin', yeah? Right, good boy?"

And Slit yips, starts nodding again like a lunatic, bucking his hips upward and moving them under Clot in a way he knows is obscene even if he's only been fucked in the ass a couple times by Nux all sloppy, all virginal and clumsy, but his body's smart even if his head's sheltered and dumb. Good boy. He'll be good, so good, good-est boy-lizard-smeg they ever wanted and Slit finds himself sucking in breaths 'cause Clot let go. Clot knows the magic word and Slit is throwing himself back at Gaul, wasting no time with the foreplay he barely knows. Grabs the base of his big half-hard cock and starts licking up the shaft like he's thirsty before plunging the head inside his mouth, devouring it.

Gaul's groaning and grabbing his hands around Slit's scalp instantly, thrusting gratefully into his mouth. This is pleasure he usually gets when Clot's in the mood but for all his strength, Gaul's whipcord roommate is the one who holds all the power in their loose relationship. Just like he holds all the power between these three time-bombs, these frustrated balls of malice that are his fellow War Boys. Watch how they don't do a damn thing without his permission. Slit's realizing this and even as he tongues Gaul, his eyes flick over to Clot, eyeballing him from the side. His slit-eye's the one that locks on with the boss.

"That's it," Clot breaks the silence after staring back at Slit for a few seconds, slapping a hand to Gaul's big shoulder, getting all close and massaging it a bit as he looks close at his boy's face. "Like it, yeah, Gaul?" He stares hard at him for a couple more seconds before switching to Slit, and Slit feels this rush of fear-excitement as the rawbone's attention is all on him, and he wants it. His cheek still stings, his gut stills aches, his hand's still dense with pain. Sucks with no thought, stops even trying after a couple seconds and Slit just concedes to sit on his knees, let Gaul fuck his face, jockeys to try to avoid choking on that fat cock that keeps trying to bump the back of his throat. Hears rustling behind him and can't know Thumper's starting to touch himself too; you don't get this kinda entertainment every day, you know... ?

"Good sucker," Clot continues like he's talking to Gaul but he's looking at the pathetic boy sucking the other's cock. "So good at suckin' lances, put a polecat to shame." Clot snorts, Thumper laughs and Gaul's too enwrapped in getting a blowjob from a hot little mouth that he's not even with them. Slit's just elated. He moans in response, feels saliva spill out his mouth and more jolts go to his own cock, making him start to get stiff again.

"Sucker likes that one," Clot says, all calm and sure. He tips his head up at Thumper who's starting to lean against a wall. "Know what else Sucker likes? Think I know it," Clot keeps going, making a semi-circle around to Slit's back. Pauses, scratches his boot in the dirt a second before he swings it upward and slams the heft of it directly into Slit's groin.

And Slit-- Slit's reduced to a screech muffled by a huge cock and he clamps his teeth down, nearly straight-up severs Gaul's manhood right off but at the last second it's pushed into the pocket of one of his cheeks. It's concentrated in the pit of his intestines, the most intense nausea, tight coil of it exploding through his stomach and his pelvis and his spine and it feels like invisible projectile vomiting. Slit starts sinking. 

"-- Ah, too hard." Clot doesn't give him rest; he places the top of his boot back on Slit's nuts but doesn't kick this time. Just rubs it, slides it front to back between his legs in this way that's shockingly gentle, given how rough they've been with him.

Everything hurts, nerves are pounding all over but Slit can't help himself from rocking back and forth over Clot's boot. Gaul's too fried to really be malevolent and even if Slit's stopped actively suckling him he hasn't noticed, busy humping his face, whatever he can get of his mouth, tongue or throat or not. He's starting to lean over Slit now, his body imposing like it's gonna fall over and crush him at any second.

"That's it," Clot is repeating, not bothering to unbutton; simply shoves a half-gloved hand down his loose pants and starts stroking himself as he watches Slit sway on his boot. Then his gaze snaps up to Gaul, huffing like swine and he already knows he's close. Pointless to tell him to stop 'cause he's somewhere else and Clot just lets it happen, decides to watch with Thumper as he drags his boot away from Slit.

And Slit realizes this more than he realizes Gaul's blowing his load in his mouth. He whimpers when that weight disappears, something he can hear them two laughing about behind him. His neediness. Feels a flush all hot on his face and it's not from how Gaul's spilling down his throat; that's masturbation he done did and Slit tears his mouth away with a wet pop, leaving the junkie to keep pumping his shit on the floor, grunting with each pent-up spurt. Slit swallows the cum left in his mouth and spits the rest out, wipes his mouth and scrabbles backward away from the big War Boy. 

"Why'd ya stop-- ?" Comes Clot all innocent and Slit throws a glare at him. "Rack off already," he's hissing, leaping upward and nearly staggering as he does from the wave of pain that collides with him - ends up sinking against a wall, starting to squirm as Clot and Thumper step over to trap him again. Slit bites at his lower lip and there's this hanging tension of _will they, won't they_ as Slit wonders if they'll beat him again. His cock's pulsing, pressing at his pants and he wants to grab it and relieve himself. Can't though, can't 'cause that'll mean he likes it and the last thing he wants to do is please these bastards. Obedience only if he gets praise, only if--

Clot spends about five whole seconds waiting before he bashes his fist into Slit's stomach again, into his bruised guts and he's pummeling him this time, going once - twice - three times then aiming right for his face again, splitting his lip right back open. Slit cries out, punches him back. Misses the first time then starts kicking wildly as he falls ass-first right back down on the ground. Manages to land a few on their legs but it's nothing more than future bruises. Won't stop them. Slit's body is starting to scream at him, acid building in his muscles from thrashing around so much and draining himself like he is. But he pushes more, spasms and writhes as Clot and Thumper grab him by either arm.

They yank at him, try to get him on his knees again and for a brief moment the two of them tug opposite like they're fighting over a toy before they seem to silently agree to knock him back against the wall. Slit feels coveted. Fought over, lusted after. Even if it's just the desire to hurt him or fuck him or both - this pair of fuck-ups wants him bad. His tongue slides over his lips and he aims a grin up at the two of them, opens his mouth wide and makes a noisy exhale, sticking his tongue out. Lizard, lizard, lizard for life. This lizard's head is exquisitely throbbing. Threads like little slivers of glass radiating out in pain-pulses from being abused so hard. From resisting so hard. 

Thumper's scowling hard but Clot's got a crooked, freakish look on his face as he grabs Slit's chin and tilts it up to him. Soft and nice-like. Thumper's angry and blank about it but when Clot gets mad he gets creative. Gets ideas.

"You want his maw, don't ya?" Clot snaps at Thumper, who's nodding. "Me too," Clot keeps going, cradling Slit's chin, all caked with dried saliva and blood now and it feels flaky-itchy on his smooth skin. Slit lets his tongue retract, tugs his head away just to feel how Clot tightens his grip, possessive and yanking him right back where he belongs.

"Let's try it," Clot is muttering and he reaches his free hand over to do the honors of exposing Thumper's cock for him, pulling down and out, making the shorter War Boy groan in appreciation. Slit throws his head forward and gnaws the air, makes Thumper jolt backward and then Slit's giggling, seething at him, his reaction. Clot gives him a reprimand in the form of a quick but firm slap across the cheek again, grabbing up his chin once more, holding him in place as he does it. _That's it_. Slit's beaming up at him, eyes half-lidded. Feels the scratch of Clot's glove on that same spot as he rubs, pats in a circle like he's trying to comfort him.

"No bites, remember... ?"

A pause. Slit could nod like a fool for him. Or he could beckon the acidic tingle of another bitch-slap. Another small, controlled punishment. Feels the throb from his kicked balls still burrowing up into his guts and he does it; he nuzzles into Clot's wrist then sinks his fangs in. Not hard, not too hard, don't wanna puncture anything just wanna--

It's there, it's _it_ , fresh and whipcrack and feels so good Slit whimpers for the taller Boy, eyes close to closing for real this time as he stares up at him, sways from the dizzying solvent-feel on his cheek when Clot slaps him again. Dopey smile spreads wide on his lizard-face and Clot mirrors it, this horrible twist of his lips that shows his silver canine.

"Greedy, ain't it," Clot's snickering and Thumper's stepping back in, loathing written all over his face and Slit just aims that smile at him like he wants to eat his hate. Slit sags forward, brings his hands up and plants them on Clots' knees, tired but urgently needing something from him. From both of them. Catches Gaul starting to rise back up and shuffle around, shuffle back over to try to see what's going on, his head cocking up behind Clot's and Slit finds himself completely trapped by this wall of bodies. No escape. But he tries one more time for show, ducking and pouncing through Clot's legs or trying - and Clot's quick, he slams his boot on Slit's shoulder and kick-rolls him on his back again. Slit worms free from the pressure and collides with the wall again; less than a foot away so where else is he gonna go?

"Never gonna--" Slit starts to snarl and Clot's had enough. He's plunging both hands at Slit's face, grabbing, forcing his mouth open with prying dirty fingers and Thumper's right at his side. Got the right idea. Thumper elbows Clot away, pissed-off and desperate to fuck Slit's brains right out of his head through his stupid mouth. He shoves his cock in and Slit starts sputtering, thrashing to get it out. Shaking his head like he doesn't want it but if he really didn't he'd be biting. No, he loves it, loves the way the back of his skull smashes into the wall with a crack and the fucking profane way Thumper needs to get off and use him.

Clot's sneering at this, elbows Thumper right back seconds later. "What's it, what'd I say about _me too_? You deaf, bastard?" Thumper backs off a little with a grumble of protest, except it's obvious that Slit can't fit them's two cocks in at once 'cause his mouth is all small, tight and hot like a virgin or something else young and rubber-band.

Clot grabs that ugly face again and strokes at Slit's cheek-scars, deep and uneven. Stapled at the tips. To get 'em that deep, must have had to cut them right down the middle. Split the flesh and let it bind itself together again over time. It looks like opportunity.

Slit pokes his tongue at the inside of his cheek right where Clot's finger goes, following it and looking up at him. Clot always carries a shiv on him. Be in his boot or pocket or tucked into his bandana, it's there. Don't trust any War Boy as far as you can throw 'em because even if they're supposed to be a cult of brothers, they're also savages. Clot reaches into a ripped-hole back pocket and procures the current shiv. Fashioned with love from a tin can that used to house processed, sterile food of some kind, it's gnarled and bound up with layers of heavy electrical tape at the handle. Clot's baby, one of his favorite shanks he's ever made. He holds it up to show it off and plays like he's just admiring it, but makes it glitter in the faint sunlight pouring in from some hole from a hole on top another hole in the ceiling.

The lizard feels his heart start racing, because punches and kicks are one thing but real blood is another. He's an expert himself, a vampire-boy that enjoys drinking blood from the 'bags just as much as blood transfusions. Makes him high and even more reckless. Knows exactly the kind of damage that can be done with a knife, and oh, Clot's waggling it in front of his face and it transposes over the sight of Thumper's hard cock, both things so close to him.

Slit starts shaking his head immediately. "Don't--" he's starting to dribble even as twitches of excitement and anticipation rack his shoulders, and Clot's slamming his palm to Slit's forehead and crushing it to the wall again, pinning him like he's been impaled with a lance. Still tries to shake his head, makes the back of his scalp grind against the sandblast but he can barely move with the pressure Clot's got on him. His hands go up, grasp weakly at the wrists again. 

Clot does nothing to stop him but he drives the shiv forward, uses one spindly hand to slide off his forehead and grab and hold his entire jaw, the other positioning the knife at his cheek. Clot presses, licks his lips and pays no mind as Thumper and Gaul lean in to watch more closely. 

"Brace it, spitboy, gonna hurt," Clot's murmuring, husky and aroused. Demonic is the word, again. That's what he looks like in the dim light, the way the shadows hit. Something from the Citadel's idea of a bleak hell. A void of nothing but darkness. Slit's trembling like he's holding onto a live wire and he can't even whine out a proper protest before Clot's breaking the skin. Cuts right into the _slits_ and drags it, trails it like he's working his way through mud. Slit remembers doing these scars himself and sure it hurt, but now that all the tissue's built up it's even harder to get through and he's wailing, squeezing on Clot's wrists as the older Boy slices the blade around all jagged. Tears wrung out raw and honest, again he's not crying but his body does it, makes it so. 

Clot doesn't even pause, he's so focused on re-opening the wound. See-saw, he's given up trying to do a straight line and treats Slit's cheek like a particularly fatty piece of steak he's trying to butterfly. The sharp point of the shank's going in and out rapidly and it's threatening to stab open Slit's tongue at this rate, blood gushing thick and copper into the lizard's mouth-hole as his eyes roll back into his head from the searing agony. So concentrated and explosive he can barely make a sound, just hiss-moans gurgles his own blood and saliva and makes it drip out past his lips, twitching and wringing at Clot's wrists, on and off like he's kneading. Feels his wetness making a line down his neck and his flushed chest and between the tight little muscles on his belly, down where his cock's still perky and somehow palpitating with want.

But Slit can't focus on that because Clot's wedging that tin-can knife up to the staples and he's removing the blade, digging it under and trying to pry them out. Slit's mouth hangs at one side like he's gotten paralysis, new flesh-flaps again absolutely soaked in bright, weeping blood and he purls at Clot:

"Ghhv-- !"

Not a word but a word as he rips his sweating hands from Clot and reaches up to grab the knife with one, hand clasping around the other War Boys'. Clot just tightens his grip and his two lackeys-of-the-day are starting like they want to jump on Slit, but a second later it's so obvious. And Clot lets go, lets him have that sweet baby of his because he wants to watch what this twisted little spitboy's gonna do to himself.

Slit nods at him all feverish when he's granted the shiv, and he sprawls up on Clot's legs again, grinning with delirium past the blood coating his teeth. Reaches up to pinch at one part of his cheek as leverage then brings the blade up to start opening himself, cleaving the other side of his face wide open so they know-- they know he likes it, that he's fucking crazy and _wants this_ and the other two seem taken aback. But Clot's just watching, yanking his own cock out his pants as he does and jerking off over Slit's face, purposely dripping strands of pre-cum on it as he plays voyeur to Slit's willful self-mutilation. It's not all glorious; Slit's whining again, full-body groans of absolute anguish as he shudders, as he lacerates himself. His head's tipped up and he sways forward, his chin falling on Clot's hip as he blinks at some fluid leaking into his eye. Doesn't bother wiping it away. It's filth and he's filth and his face especially is filth, and it belongs there.

Slit starts panting and dry-heaving seconds later from all the blood and snot he's swallowed, lets the shank drop and Clot's wasting no time in shoving his cock inside this bloody fuck-hole. "Get it-- !" Clot's shouting at Thumper or Gaul or both, commanding one of them to take advantage. Thumper shoves his way past Gaul and takes the spot, supporting himself against the wall with one hand as he penetrates. Got two stiff cocks now, now he can take it, and Slit opens as wide as he can to welcome the choking. Both War Boys seem to have little regard for each other, not bothering to move in sync as they start rapid-fucking his mouth; there's room for both but they act like they're fighting over who can dominate the space. 

Head-slamming to the wall, Slit knocks his body forward or tries to before the two of them push him right back. He does it again, muscles in his neck bracing up but it's pointless to try. Gurgle-growls and starts gagging again, inhaling and coughing out a vile mixture of all sorts of thick fluids. Tears brim so involuntarily, yet again, _poor lizard_ \- the simple sliding of flesh on flesh feels like metal grating with his face-cuts so freshly opened. Pre-cum and saliva's starting to leak out down his jaw and his chin and his neck right along with the blood. Slit's reaching up to try to grab the bases of their cocks with each hand. Doesn't know how much he looks like a perfect porn star, doesn't know what porn is. Does know the agony's coagulating with his buried pleasure, creating a sensation that dazes him and he starts swaying right along with the brutal way he's getting fucked in the mouth.

They're rutting into him with zero concern over the way his sharp little teeth scrape, the way he can't even swirl his tongue around all soft and sexy; doesn't matter, it's tight and hot and wet and Slit's face is all ruined. A big fucking mess. A mire of filth smeared and dribbling everywhere and Slit might be grinning or maybe it's just the way the mutilated skin's being warped. More sweat, more sweat's trickling off their faces and beading and splatting onto this cum dumpster of a War Boy and he just blinks blearily, giddily through it. His head's reeling in this drug-haze of something decadent in the way they abuse him--

Then Gaul's trying to muscle his way between the two of them and Clot snarls, pants: "Y'can't fit, go open 'im up arse-wide." 

Gaul gives his boyfriend a bewildered look before he grunt-heaves backward from them two's bodies, circling around to Thumper's side because he's less scared of him. Just came but the big dumb boar's ready for more, apparently, as his hands reach out and grab Slit around the neck like he's a sack full of something. Slit whines, kicks and is detached for a gasping, slimy breath's two seconds before Clot 'n Thumper lunge for him again. Desperate for his mouth. But Gaul's turning his body all weird and forcing him on his knees, on his palms, bent forward like an animal. Slit's stomach's contracting beautifully, flexing as he tries to contain another round of vomit.

"-- Yeh, whore," Clot's voice jab into his ears and he's pat-slapping at the side of Slit's face, making the Boy dry-sob and moan some more for him. "Likes it, good whore." Clot doesn't pronounce the _r_ and punctuates it with a prominent _ah_. His accent's different and Slit wants to hear it more, degrading him in that gutter-voice. Calling him _good_ all the time. No, not all the time, only when he deserves it, which is rare because he's a lizard, an idiot, an ugly smeg, a spitboy, a whore. He nudges forward, bumps forehead into Clot's lower belly and tries to beckon more words but it's hard when you've got two whole cocks in your flayed mouth. 

They're still fucking at him in dissonance when Gaul, completely tactless, is yanking Slit's pants down to his bent knees and immediately forcing his cock in. A tight hole only his stupid friend's ever gotten to, and Slit's screaming, ripping himself off them's two he's got in his maw with this disgusting mucousy noise. The noise devolves into a deep, sexual grunt once he's past the initial shock, astonished at the way his hole feels as it's violated by such a thick girth.

"Ain't how you do your schlanger, ya wreckin' it! Move!" Clot's all pissed and Thumper shrinks back a little as the other War Boy's throwing himself at Gaul, smashing his palms to his broad shoulders and somehow managing to push him off and out of Slit even though he's not nearly as burly. Gaul returns from mutedom and gruff, petulant, spits out: "I wanna do 'im..."

He's completely ignored as Clot squares himself behind Slit, grabs at his bony hips with his gloved hands, sneering and-- who's the greedy one now? Slit grunts for him and bucks his ass backward, violent, grinding himself on what he can feel of that slick, rigid cock. Doesn't even pay attention as Thumper grabs his chin and forces his own cock back in, starts going at him like a jackhammer now that he has his gullet to himself. Just before, Slit manages to snap, " _Get in, 'fore I--_ " Like he can do anything.

But then it's all moans and groans and Clot takes the time to rub himself against the cleft of Slit's bone-white ass, thumbs pressing and opening him. Exposing an obscenely pink hole so tight it's begging to get worked open, made to gape. Clot hocks and spits at it, watches his thick saliva trailing down and the way Slit twitches forward from it. Surely that ain't enough.

It's tough to piss post-orgasm, let alone with a throbbing hard-on, but Clot knows how. Maybe he's just lucky. Either way, it's something he does to mark those War Boys he likes to indulge in when the mood strikes if only 'cause they're there, and most of 'em are such empty-headed idiots they don't know what's coming. Not gonna explain this, doesn't need to, Slit doesn't need to know a fucking thing because he exists to please Clot and his cronies right now. 

And so the younger War Boy doesn't. Slit's choking as Thumper tries his best to penetrate his throat, feels like he's about to split his neck in two from the force. What he feels next is water, fresh-boiled, splattering and running down his crack with an angry impact. Keeps going and then he can feel Clot digging his fingers into his hole, spreading him wide enough that the liquid's surging inside him, a jet-stream right into his guts. Ammonia seeps in his nose, clogged as it is with blood and snot and Slit realizes he's getting pissed on.

He's got a heated growl for Clot at this realization, trying to yank his back end away but Clot's got a death-grip on him and he only grabs harder, secures his hands back up around Slit's waist as the tip of his cock kisses at the kid's asshole, still emptying himself deep inside him. Slit struggles once more again to make Clot grab harder. Wants him, wants him; the way Clot ensures he's not getting away makes it obvious. Nowhere for that urine to go and it's leaking, spilling out just as fast as it's gushing in. Clot's a fucking geyser and his piss feels potent, smells potent, all dehydrated and lacking the nutrition to make it nice and clear like aqua cola. Clot even thrusts forward, buries his cockhead past the breach of tight flesh, that little threshold where it hurts the most. Slit whimpers for him, beckons him to continue this revolting territorial-tagging. Cute little helpless sound and Clot's benevolent; lip curled and smirking so viciously Slit can almost feel it, reaching his clammy palm around and clasping it over Slit's cock. Thing's been half-hard this whole time, caught in an uncertain state between torment and some sick enjoyment.

"Piss pit, I know it," Clot whispers not like he's trying to mock him in front of his buddies, just _talk_ to him, and a shudder rolls through Slit's body. Up his scarred spine and he's spreading his legs, sinking to the floor as Clot starts jerking him off in this shockingly sensual way, firm but slow and showing some kind of expertise. Clot must know how to touch himself real good 'cause he does it to Slit, sliding his foreskin on and off his slick cockhead like he's milking a snake for venom. It's such a comparatively gentle motion to everything Slit's experienced so far, is currently experiencing, that he melts into it. Doesn't realize he's actually drooping to the floor and crushing Clot's hand between the ground and his belly until the older War Boy's chuckling darkly at him. Still fucking going, still filling him up with urine but it stutters to a stop at some point. 

Clot thrusts again but this time he shoves all the way in, balls-deep with an ugly bark of a laugh as Slit predictably jolts around, pitches forward, bites hard at Thumper's cock with a surprised little wail. And Thumper's yelping something unintelligible at Slit and punching his face away as a reflex, tearing it off his cock. Grabs his chin in his palm and starts slapping him on the same cheek again and again, shouting: "Bad, _bad_ , bad smeg--"

And Clot's just cracking up before he yanks himself out like he did it on purpose just to watch what'd happen, and Slit feels his face welling up again as Thumper's starting to beat on the side of his face, smashing exposed nerves, these horrible cuts he's just done to himself again and they all did to him. It's torture and Slit's not gonna let them know. He laughs right along with Clot as he hatches a spontaneous plan and then--

Slit's quick, swinging a fist up like lightning and punching Thumper in the stomach. Nice attempt but it does shit-all to get him away; now he's just madder. Thumper throws his weight forward, snatches Slit and yanks him around so he can get at his ass. Safer. Won't bite. Clot just sits back on his calves and stares and Gaul's still looking like a kicked dog behind him, scratching the back of his neck and listlessly tugging his pants back up, itching to go off and self-medicate with some kind of substance they can get their hands on--

Takes Thumper all of about ten seconds of shredding his way into Slit's hole, screwing him with no regard for anything but his own hateful vengeance. For relieving the awful ache in his ballsack. He cums a hard and fast load and Slit's a thrashing mess, pushed into the ground and unable to get away but trying to kick Thumper off him. Manages to do it right after he blows, and Slit's cackling with his face against the floor and Thumper's thundering: "Ain't worth nothing-- for this--"

Clot's just snickering again and shushing him as he does, only one left with a throbbing cock that hasn't been sated. Thumper's glaring daggers at him as if he knows Clot did that on purpose, too, but the War Boy in question's too focused on Slit to care. He slides around, fluid, to his ass-end and grabs around the hips, angles his cock up and starts going for it.

He won't last long; Slit knows this because that's how sex works around here. It's not drawn-out and long and tantric. It's fast, hard, quick-as-you-can because Citadel life's short. Slit tries to draw it out anyway, moves in rebellion with the way Clot breeds him. His thrusts are short and he's not touching him and Slit starts pant-growling at him. Reaches back and snaps his hand around his wrist and tries to force it over his length again. Clot's grabbing for Slit's previously-kicked balls, squeezes and rolls the smooth skin between his sticky fingers like he's twirling a knife. He tugs the loose skin and yanks at the scrote, makes Slit's body twist up deliciously tight and arched around his cock when he does that. Gives the pathetic lizard a sharp little slap with the back of his fingers to the pulled skin and then he finally grants him a handjob, settling a nice, firm grip around the base and sliding up, down. The rough sensation of the leather on Clot's gloves almost hurts, mostly just feels good. Gritty.

"Lil' pup likes his daddy, eh," Clot leans in and husks into Slit's ear and it makes his skin crawl. He nods all dumb again, feeling all the fluid in his mouth tip forward, slosh around and he lets it leak from his open whore-mouth. Clot takes the opportunity to shove his fingers in and Slit cries out a sweet, tortured noise as the digits burrow into his re-opened cuts and exist to wriggle around just like worms. "That's it, screech it, make sounds for me. I'm your Immortan," Clot keeps a steady murmur as he rams into Slit from behind and feels himself getting ready to burst. 

Slit cums without any sort of warning, his hips jerking forward so far that he detaches Clot's cock from deep inside him with a whining moan. In turn Clot tears his fingers away and opts to just slip a violent chokehold around Slit's neck from behind, forearm pressing into his throat as he forces him back into position and jabs into him again, fucking him with a new surge of sweating vigor as Slit spills on the ground, smears his seed all over his lower stomach.

Then Clot cums too and it's another deposit up in his guts, mixing with the piss and that other War Boy's load he's already forgetting the name of and the one he swallowed and--

Slit snarl-yelps as the back of his scalp's slapped and brings him back to reality. The drug-daze of an overload of pain and pleasure, all those brain-chemicals, starting to evaporate and leave him acutely exhausted. He wilts, each muscle going loose as Clot gets up off him and zips himself, surveying the damage they did. After a pause, he sticks his boot out and turns Slit over, exposing his soft underbelly. Slit does nothing to stop him and Clot just starts chuckling, as do the other two like some sadistic domino effect. Slit focuses on Clot from below for just long enough to see him wipe his mouth and spit on him. One last fuck-you; Slit forces the widest, face-splitting grin he can before he sticks his tongue out at the older War Boy. He's got the last word.

Slit's more than a mess. He's a dumping ground. A shit-pile for blood and bruises and abuse. For sweat, for tears, for saliva and snot. For semen that churns inside his stomach and his guts and out his ass. Pissed-in, worthless, fit to function as a urinal trench. Lies there like he's nothing, like he wants to dissolve into the vile fluids that coat him inside and out. There's something buzzing over his battered body, something alive and intensely aware despite the searing pain and deep aches that pound and dremel like pistons he's trapped in a box with. Every inch of skin, every spot within...

There's something sublime and fulfilling as he basks in his filth, because in the end, he wanted it all. The three War Boys are leaving him. Their boots are scuffing across the floor and they are leaving him. They don't care. Slit doesn't care either and he couldn't move even if he wanted to, struck dumbfounded, brain obliterated - at least for the moment. Slit will lie here and the War Boys will go back to whatever they were doing and, connection, real or imagined, will sever. He can't hear Valhalla but it's glorious.

Glorious is the misery. Is the indignity. His body, lying there, every second an opportunity for someone in a bad mood to come snuff him out. Come defile him more, if they wanted. Glorious is the vulnerability. And he, ugly lizard, boot-kisser, piss pit, dumb whore, scum of the earth - he's glorious, too.

The valkyries won't come screaming from the sky for him today, but maybe this moment of post-traumatic ruin is just as good.


End file.
